Hallowed
by InkWorthy
Summary: The lead Cenobite has coaxed Kirsty into his domain. Despite her better judgement, she has agreed to let him show her just one extreme of the senses, with the proviso that she can stop at any time. As the minutes melt away, so do doubts, walls, and conceits on both sides, until only the question remains: will they keep going? (a mature piece in two parts. Pinsty.) (Edit: 3 parts.)
1. Chapter 1

_Aaaand I return months later with... this. Almost 2000 words of glorified smut._

 _At least it's actual Pinsty this time?_

 _Content warning: This story has slight bondage, sensory manipulation, some actual goddamn foreplay, and in part 2, orgasm denial. A lot of it. I highly suggest you don't read this at work._

 _Cheers!  
_

* * *

"You may stop this whenever you wish, you need only say the word." The words were an assurance, but he spoke in such a cold and calculated tone that Kirsty half-believed he was lying. She'd heard of safe-words, of course; she'd even used them with a partner and a brief experiment with handcuffs and warm wax. But as she and that partner had discussed, the mantra behind these words was safe, sane and consensual.

There was nothing safe or sane about this.

"You would be surprised," his voice answered her unspoken thought, and Kirsty frowned. "I would promise you your safety, but I doubt you would trust me."

"I don't trust your definition of safe," Kirsty responded, and the Hell Priest almost smiled slightly, chest rumbling with what might have been a chuckle.

"I trust you will, in time."

He had led her down a long hall, her arm on his despite her hesitance, and into a solitary and surprisingly sparse room. It was lit by wall-mounted chandeliers, black metal wrought into twisting limbs, the light white and pale enough to look directly into. Somehow the light filled the room enough for her to see all of it; and what she saw surprised her.

"I will use your definition of safety for the time being," the Hell Priest spoke as he let her arm go and walked to the bed at the center of the room. She looked at the walls, the ground, inspecting everything; she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Or wasn't seeing.

"…No hooks." Kirsty's eyes trailed over to the Cenobite inspecting the bed. It was lined with rich red sheets and a cushiony pillow, welcoming, sexy. She tried to be surprised at herself for the last thought, at how it lingered when her eyes followed the sheets' creases to the strong hand and leather-bound arm that were making them.

"No hooks," he agreed, stepping back and beckoning her forward. "You agreed to experience one extreme of sensation. I could show you the exquisite depths of agony," Kirsty's eyes narrowed, brow furrowing, "but there is more to our realm than the reshaping of flesh." He gestured to the bed again as Kirsty reluctantly approached. "There are no surprises here."

No surprises. Kirsty tugged at the edge of her nightgown – which, she noticed, near-perfectly matched the sheets – before nodding.

The bed was softer than she expected as she lowered herself onto it. No spikes, no cold, nothing she'd half-expected. No surprises. She relaxed almost begrudgingly, almost irritated at how nice it was. This place, this _being,_ wasn't supposed to be nice or pleasant. This was a hell dimension.

 _Not the only hell._ She pushed the thought from her head to focus on the moment. He was standing over her now, a shadow crossing her chest with his arm.

The Hell Priest pushed a stray hair from her face. She half-wanted to lean into it, but didn't. It was pride, she knew; he couldn't know that his hand was strangely comforting, his voice as inviting as it was intimidating. Even here, in his realm and under his touch, she couldn't let herself surrender completely.

She'd come so far. This was just to sate him, his curiosity about her. She repeated that to herself as he leaned over her, pins brushing her nose.

"You will be brought to the precipice of sensation, Kirsty, and held there. I will keep you at that edge until I see fit to release you." She could almost see a smirk, almost make out affection, almost eke out _some_ sort of sentiment behind his mask of calm. "There is no time in this place, Kirsty. You may experience hours or years. Do you want this?"

"What does it matter?" She asked, trying to ignore the phrasing, the small comfort she took in the question. She couldn't let her guard down, couldn't grab onto the way he was almost warning her, promising her. "You're going to do it anyway."

"Only if you agree to it. You are not here by opening the box, Kirsty, and have not given yourself to pleasure. As long as that is true, you are the one who holds power here."

"…I see." He wasn't being direct, but she understood it anyway. As long as she didn't open the box – an unspoken contract – he couldn't proceed on principle. He needed consent, in one form or another.

"You have to tell me, Kirsty. Do you want this?" His expression was guarded, but sincere; Kirsty nodded, but he made no move to act.

"…Yes," she finally said, "I want this."

The Hell Priest nodded and straightened up over her, and his hands took her wrists. He pinned them over her head, and she felt cloth around them, binding them. She wriggled a bit on instinct; they didn't constrict her and left some room for her wrists to breathe, but she couldn't get out. That didn't surprise her.

The cenobite stayed by the side of the bed. She had half-expected her nightgown to be ripped off of her, but he made no move to undress her. Instead one hand lingered lightly over the gown, moving down, stopping over her abdomen; he watched her face, gaze heavy with intent, as he pressed down until his palm was flat against the fabric.

He stopped. Kirsty looked at him and let confusion etch her features.

"Wait," he spoke, and now she could detect the slightest warmth in his voice, "it will come. Do you remember the word?" Red, she thought to herself, and he nodded, content it was in her mind. All she had to do was say red, and it was over.

For another moment, there was nothing. She wasn't sure what she was even waiting for, since sensation could mean anything and everything, couldn't it? But then she started to notice. It started somewhere below his hand, in the pit of her body, and spread in all directions like ink crawling across paper.

Kirsty squirmed slightly, trying to place it, trying to figure out just what "it" was. Warmth, certainly, but faint; almost like a tingling sensation, one that she knew somehow. It was only as the sensation travelled further out, filling her stomach and crawling towards her legs, that she realized why it was so familiar.

It was _arousal._

Kirsty shuddered, closing her eyes as she felt a dull throb between her legs. The Hell Priest never moved his hand, and she could feel his eyes on her face, watching intently. Beads of sweat formed on her skin and quickly clung to the nightgown; she had to focus on breathing slowly, trying not to get worked up too soon. The slow fire under her skin crawled up her neck, and she couldn't quite fight a tremble of her lip, suddenly aching to be kissed.

The Hell Priest did not kiss her. Instead he lifted his hand away from her, but the feeling did not leave with his touch. Kirsty took a breath, trying not to writhe towards him. She was sweating harder now, her skin hot and slick and crying out to be touched. She had never been this aroused taking care of herself, hell, even sex didn't compare to this. It felt _good,_ even as every inch of her yearned to be touched, the ache worst in her now-slick folds. Kirsty took another breath.

"Kirsty, can you still speak?" His voice was like a cold knife slicing through the warm haze, but only temporarily; she was shocked for a mere moment before she was nearly lost to the pleasure and need again.

"Sh-shit…" she answered, not opening her eyes, and heard a heavy rumble again. If she had opened them, she would see him smiling for just a moment with satisfaction.

"Try not to," he said simply. She couldn't stop herself from wriggling a bit now, looking for friction. It took her a moment to even register he'd made a joke. When she did, she laughed, then let out a heady moan as another shudder of pleasure coursed through her.

He still wasn't touching her, and it was driving her _mad._ This felt so right but so wrong, not out of guilt, but because nothing was touching her. If her hands weren't tied she'd have tried to finish herself off; her thighs rubbed together, seeking the friction she needed.

"Please," she whispered, then louder, " _please…"_

"Yes, Kirsty? What is it you want?" She couldn't think about being disgusted by the answer. Even if she wasn't desperate she wouldn't have been disgusted, not really, no matter how much she knew she shouldn't want it.

"T-touch…" her hips bucked, and she gasped out the words. "Touch me…"

"Ah." If she had been paying attention, she would have heard affection in his voice, just for those few words. "As you command."

Kirsty almost sobbed with relief when his hand pushed her skirt up. He rubbed her through her panties for a moment; he idly thumbed her clit, watched her face as she strained to raise her hips even more. For a few minutes he kept his touches light and teasing. He drew out his movements for what felt like small eternities, exquisite and torturous. It was only when Kirsty whimpered, shame forgotten, that he slid his hand under the thin piece of fabric, two fingers sliding into her with ease.

Kirsty's fingers curled into the sheets. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips against her, and the cool leather covering his thumb rested over her clit. He was still again, and she bucked her hips up towards him, trying to get him to move.

"Remember, Kirsty," through the haze of lust she did not question the near-lilt in his tone, only ached for it, "Once you reach the edge, I will not let you over for hours." He started thrusting his fingers slowly, rubbing her with his thumb as he did. "Possibly longer. We can stop here, if you have had enough."

"N-no…"

"I do not know what that means, Kirsty."

"Keep…" it was hard to focus on words, on anything but his slow pace and how she wanted him to go faster. "Keep going… please…"

"Very well."

He did not speed up; how Kirsty didn't collapse from exhaustion, she didn't know, but she kept rocking against his hand and trying to focus on getting herself to the tipping point. Even as slow as he was, she could feel it building up. Kirsty steadied her breathing, losing herself now in the motion; she was so close, it'd just take another second…

The coiling in her body was tightened as far as it could, but nothing happened. There was no breaking point; she could not get herself to climax, no matter how hard she rocked, as if her energy had been spent ascending to the highest point only to hit a brick wall. Kirsty opened her eyes, knowing her expression was one of pleading as the Hell Priest gazed down at her in what could have been adoration.

"Now," he said, "we begin."


	2. Chapter 2

_... I lied. 3 parts._

* * *

"Begin?"

Kirsty's words came as a whimper. The Hell Priest had slowed his movements to a near-standstill, and she nearly wanted to scream, to beg him not to stop. She was so close…

"I told you, Kirsty, that I would hold you here once we reached this point." His other hand moved to slightly tidy her hair, and for the briefest moment he caressed the side of her face. "Our purpose is to push the boundaries of pleasure and pain until they are indistinguishable and intertwined." His hand stopped and pulled away completely, and she groaned as the sensations continued to wrack her body without his touch to anchor it.

"Please…"

"It will hurt, Kirsty." Something changed in his voice, something solemn and, impossibly, tender. "Your flesh has never been pushed this far. The pleasure will overwhelm you, to the point that you will most likely experience it as agony. We can stop here completely, or I can give you a more human release, if you prefer. Know that I cannot pull you back once you are over the breaking point."

His hand cupped her face, turning it more towards him; he held her gaze, waiting for her to focus. "Tell me what you desire, Kirsty. I will not begrudge your answer. There is nothing you need to prove here."

His voice washed over her, steady and controlled as her nerves ran amok looking for something to ground the overwhelming sensation. He was offering her an out, even now; it seemed so unlike him, when the box had pursued her for so long, that he would be so willing to let her go if she asked.

But then, she hadn't opened the box.

"I…" talking was hard, but she focused her thoughts, her words. He would keep her like this unless she said something, stopped at the last mile of a path she could almost see the end of. He had told her it would hurt, and she believed him. It almost hurt now, how badly she needed release, to be touched, to feel _anything_ (to feel him) anchor the sensation with some form of physical contact. She drew in another breath, forcing the haze back enough to focus on her choice. "I want to keep going… I want this."

The Cenobite nodded, giving that slight, unreadable smile, the tender creature of a moment ago gone behind a mask of self-control. His hand left her face and took the hem of her nightgown between two fingers. "Very well, Kirsty."

He gathered the material of the nightgown in his hand and slowly pulled up, exposing her sweaty skin to the warm air. The garment slid easily over her head, and he left it bunched at her wrists.

He paused, eyes travelling over her, and she could see a spark of hunger in his gaze as he drank her in. It faded as quickly as it came, or perhaps she'd imagined it, considering her body was near-aflame with aching arousal.

Kirsty half-expected (hoped) the Hell Priest would run his hands over her skin, her breasts, even brush his fingers against her throat. He didn't; his hand found the hem of her panties once again and slid under, and soon she was caught in the same torturously slow rhythm as before. His fingers slipped in and out, rubbing against her too lightly for the friction to bring sparks. She closed her eyes and groaned, head sinking back into the pillow.

"You really do – mmph – torture people…" she managed, and felt more than heard his low rumble of a laugh.

Time didn't pass here, Kirsty remembered. She couldn't say how long he kept her like that, but she knew it was long enough that the first real thrust of his hand caused her to gasp in surprise. He pressed his thumb to her clit with a more firm touch, rubbed and stroked her with the fervor of a lover, and it was all happening so quickly she could barely catch her breath. She thought she had been at her peak, but her nerves coiled tighter, tension mounting beyond anything her body had known. She writhed, bucked, trying to find a rhythm that wasn't chaotic and desperate. Kirsty arched her back, feeling a shout build in her throat-

The Hell Priest pulled his hand away, and Kirsty groaned as she fell back into the sheets, panting. He watched her, waiting until her breath was steadier before speaking.

"That is only the first, Kirsty. I will keep going until I believe you cannot take any more, unless you wish-"

"Don't you _dare_ stop," Kirsty's voice was nearly a snarl, though he knew it was from need and not malice, and she knew he understood. "Not now, please."

He didn't stop. The Hell Priest began again, a cycle slowly emerging; slow movements and touches that left her wanting, then sudden intensity which threatened to push her into climax before suddenly being pulled back. Kirsty writhed and groaned under his ministrations, moaned, whimpered, all but begged for her release. He watched her face every time he pulled back. At first he was calm, serene, distant, every bit the cold creature of her nightmares. As she started losing track of each denial, however, she could see something in his black eyes like softness, but was too desperate to consider what it was. Her eyes soon stayed closed.

Kirsty had lost her sense of time. She had lost sense of nearly everything, drowning in the feeling that saturated her nerves and was broken only by the Hell Priest's touch. His hand was her only tie to reality; her body was lost in heat and pleasure, the anticipation of what was coming. Even thoughts about being afraid had long melted away, inhibitions pushed off of her like her nightgown. She did not want to be afraid, or angry, or to hate the one she was allowing to make her feel this way. There was no room in her for any of that, or for anything beyond that moment. There was nothing else in the world, no Earth, no need to escape, no need to fight, no pride. There was nothing but ecstasy, pulled tighter and tighter inside her beyond possibility, and the one who held reprieve between his thumb and two fingers.

He stopped again, and she gave a short and desperate sob.

"Kirsty." Her eyes ached; she opened them anyway, looked at the Hell Priest even as she felt her eyes mist over. "This is the last time you can say no." His thumb slid in a small circle over her clit, less methodical than before, and she whimpered. "I cannot stop this once it has started. I can only control how intensely you feel them." His voice was low, though it still rumbled under her skin. "Tell me that you want this, Kirsty."

Her voice was dry in her throat. She nodded, swallowed, tried to speak; nothing. She swallowed again.

"Yes…"

"Yes what, Kirsty?"

"I want this." It came out short, but certain. She'd come so far, she could have cried if she'd stopped. The Hell Priest nodded, that softness in his eyes again even as his face remained stoic.

"Kirsty," he said as he began to move his hand, the pattern more natural now, "You are exquisite to behold. Let me kiss you."

"Yes…" her eyes closed again as she all but melted into his hand, her lips parting slightly when his own pressed to them. Warm and cold and rough and soft were all lost to her, but she felt the pressure of it and the needles scraping her skin, and she responded with a moan and a buck of her hips into his hand. He kept rubbing her, going faster now and getting faster with each stroke, bringing her back to that peak and farther still than before. Her body cried out to him in her exhausted but hungry movements, the roll of her hips and the rise and fall of her chest. The Hell Priest pulled away and thrust his fingers into her with exquisite force, and she spilled over.

It was agony, white-hot and divine. Every nerve seemed to burst, and she screamed, a strained sound she couldn't even hear with how lost she was. The world was white behind her eyelids, his hand was gone, she twisted and gasped as fire coursed under her skin. This was not even heat, it was closer to light and it was flooding her. Kirsty screamed until her voice failed, and she continued screaming in rasps and silence. She did not see the Hell Priest watch her.

The light finally started ebbing from her body, and she was anchored back to the world by a hand caressing her cheek. The world rushed back into her; she was suddenly sore and exhausted, and could barely breathe.

"Rest, Kirsty," a deep voice blanketed her senses in darkness, and she welcomed it after the deafening silence of the light. She leaned into the hand. Tears spilled down her face from behind her eyelids. "Rest. Let it take you." The world grew quiet and heavy, the voice further away. "I will be here. You are safe."

Kirsty sunk into exhausted sleep. The Hell Priest watched her, brushing a tear from her cheek. As she settled into her rest, he rose, leaving the side of the bed.

He had much to prepare before she woke up.


	3. Chapter 3

The world came back slowly, or perhaps she came back to it slowly, like a swimmer surfacing from waters deeper than she'd expected. The sounds came first, her own breathing and heartbeat and the sound of a person's movements; it was quickly followed by the sudden heavy ache in her bones. She groaned, tasted a dry mouth, her nostrils filling with the scent of clammy skin.

Kirsty always opened her eyes last when waking up. She stretched her arms, felt fabric at her wrists, but the binds came loose easily. She opened her eyes, blinked, holding the fabric before her eyes as her sight focused; red, like the nightgown hanging off one wrist, and the soaked panties clinging to her, and the sheets underneath. She was wrapped un a blanket, having all but melted into the bed where she had seemingly been bound before waking.

And she was half-naked in a strange room.

Kirsty scrambled to sit up, looking around wildly; her eyes took in unnatural pale light on black brick walls, her bones flooding with a dull ache from the movement. Memory slowly started to seep back. She had come here willingly, that was right, and the Hell Priest had…

"You are awake." Kirsty gasped and turned her head to the voice. The Cenobite stood a few feet away, face an unreadable and unbiased calm. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

"How long was I…" she started, and he shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back.

"As long as you have needed. I told you before that there is no time in this place; you will return to your world less than a minute since your arrival." She nodded, and then the full meaning of his words set in.

"You're letting me go?" She could not keep the surprise from her voice; it felt like a trap, almost, that he would make getting out so easy. The Hell Priest approached, coming to the edge of the bed and reaching towards her with one hand. She would later tell herself she did not struggle out of soreness when he tilted her chin up, brought his face close enough that his pins brushed her forehead.

"I would spend eternity here, Kirsty, teaching you the intricacies of your own flesh. Should you let me I would bring you to realms of pleasure and pain that would make what I have already given you seem a sigh in the face of storms. I would give you the most exquisite of agonies." Kirsty tensed, despite her protesting muscles, ready to try and strike him if she felt she had to. She glared into the void of his eyes, met with no shine, no sign of what lay past them. His thumb slid over her chin, slow, nearly comforting. The void stirred. "But that was not our agreement."

He pulled back, and Kirsty allowed herself to relax slightly. The Hell Priest watched her as she pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and if she had seen any softness in him the moments before, it was gone now. She took a breath, ordering her thoughts in line. She started with the most pressing question, the one she often wished she had asked many people at many different times.

"What happens now?"

"That is your decision." It couldn't have been that easy. Even with the deal, would he really just… let her go?

"What if I want to go home?"

"Then you will be sent back to your world, in your home. It will be as if no time has passed since we began." Kirsty frowned, waiting for a catch, but he did not continue. She swallowed.

"…And what if I want to stay?" She saw something in his eyes, hunger, like a blaze roaring to life from faint sparks. It was doused as quickly as it was roused, and it took a moment for him to answer. Why?

"Then you stay." She could hear restraint in his voice, and beneath it something that might have been eagerness. "I will show you more, take you to realms of sensation beyond your darkest and deepest dreams." He never moved, but she could see the slightest quickening of his breath, of how he straightened his body soldier-stiff. And then it was gone, just like the fire in his eyes. "But I cannot keep you here forever – you will have to leave, unless you give yourself to us."

"The box," Kirsty breathed, and the Priest nodded.

"What is your choice, Kirsty?"

"I want to go home." The words were automatic, and she almost winced at them; why did she regret saying that? But she didn't take them back. The Hell Priest nodded again, cool, distant.

"Until our next meeting, Kirsty." Her eyelids grew heavy; she couldn't focus. The world melted into a dreary blackness.

Kirsty blinked; darkness. She squinted, and the faintest light blanketed certain things, forming outlines that grew into familiar shapes around her. A dresser, the jewelry box on top, the mirror, the blanket on top of her.

She was in her room. In her room and dressed – the nightgown felt clean, dry aside from a sweaty spot on her back. There was no sound; there were no Cenobites.

Kirsty let herself fall back onto the bed; she sighed, staring up at the ceiling. In the corner of her eye; her phone lit up; it was probably a text, either from her friends or the guy she'd given her number to the week before, the one who'd been playfully pushing for a date – Trevor, she thought idly.

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to think about dates or deals or tempting, manipulating hands, and her consciousness sunk into the comforting embrace of the dark.

* * *

 _And that is a wrap! On to the next piece!_


End file.
